


Discipline

by PlotQueen



Series: Unexpected [1]
Category: Anita Blake: Vampire Hunter - Laurell K. Hamilton
Genre: Child Abuse, F/M, Past Abuse, Stalking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2000-01-01
Updated: 2000-01-01
Packaged: 2017-11-15 19:47:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/531046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PlotQueen/pseuds/PlotQueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Edward leaves Anita a surprise on her birthday.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Discipline

Absently he brushed at the small scars on the back of his hand. Four small, perfect circles in the pattern of the tines of a fork; faded white and nearly invisible with time. The cost of manners, he supposed as he waited for her to leave the cemetery.

His father had always been so intent on manners and discipline.

A small smile formed on his lips as he thought that, cold and predatorily hungry. He had learned the lessons very well and with only those four inconsequential scars as the price. Anything else would never be seen, his father had been skilled and made sure that the lessons were swift and brutal and never known about.

His discipline had never cracked, not when he'd killed his father (for the lessons, naturally—he was still only a child with childish emotions and reactions). Not when he’d been brought before that wretched court of people who were intent on seeing him spend the rest of his natural life locked away. Not when the people had finally decided that it was best to see him dead.

And not when he'd been recruited from that awful place, full of the fear and desperation of men who were days from their own deaths.

Van Cleef had never ever questioned his discipline.

Someone had finally seen that he could do things right and he'd warmed to it, doing anything and everything requested of him.

And his unwavering discipline had never broken, even when he himself had.

It had never broken. Never. Not until he met her.

It had been a mistake to let her live. He'd been cocky and full of himself that night. Not two weeks ‘graduated’ from Van Cleef's school and on his own, unwilling to admit that this small slip of a girl could bring him to his knees.

No, not girl. Woman. She was never a girl.

A somber black car drove past him, where he as crouched in a hedge in easy sight of the grave she was standing by. The ritual was over, the magic done. Soon she would go home, and he would follow her.

As always.

He watched, unmoving, as she gathered her tools and slid them into a deep red duffel bag. Her zombie bag, and the color was specifically burgundy. He knew. She'd mentioned it once; he always remembered what she said.

She walked cautiously to her jeep, looking around her as she went, ever mindful of anything sneaking up on her. There was nothing, he knew that, just as he knew she didn’t know he was there watching her.

He thought no less of her for not knowing; he'd been there for over four hours, waiting for her to come to her final raising. There was no way she could know he was there unless she walked the entire cemetery on foot. But that wasn't how she did it.

She used her power… her magic, to feel for things in cemeteries. Because anything there that could cause harm was usual super or preternatural. Something that had magic in it. And he had none.

He followed, silent as a wraith, and when she began the drive home he followed after retrieving his own car, an airport rental that was not worth the money he'd paid for it. But it was nondescript and would suit his purpose.

They arrived, he down the street from her house (a rental he knew, she would not buy one yet) and she in the driveway. Even from the distance he could see the weariness in her step and couldn't hold back a proud yet tender smile as she still remained alert of her surroundings.

She was his equal, whether she would admit it or not.

He waited fifteen minutes after she entered before leaving his car and sliding through the shadows to her door. A slender leather case appeared in his hand and he opened it, extracting two small tools, and sliding them into the lock's mechanisms. He closed his eyes and no more than three silent seconds later the lock had made a nearly inaudible click.

He replaced the tools and the case and made his way inside, mindful to leave his gun in holster. He knew full well that she would indeed shoot him if he posed a threat, but tonight he wasn't there to threaten her, not even for the sake of playing with her.

No, tonight was different, special. Tonight he was here as her friend, first and only.

He could hear the rush of water from upstairs and knew she was taking a bath. Perhaps a shower since her liking of baths would have gone down recently. He shook his head, a light scowl gracing his features before he schooled it back to blankness, eyes going icy blue.

He had never approved of her dating the monsters, though he couldn't blame her at times. But he _had_ warned her that it wasn't a good idea. Granted, killing them might have been a bit harsh in her mind, but it was better than sharing a bed and bodily fluids with them. And now they had gone and broken her heart.

Of course the furry one had had the decency to do well before now.

The corpse just tried hiding his goings on until the last minute. A pity she had found out so shortly before today. It could only have made it that much harder for her.

Silently he slipped into the kitchen and flicked the lights on. Pristine, as always. He retrieved the canister of coffee beans from its cabinet and ground them, then set the grounds to brew still content with the fact that she was still occupied with water.

He listened as the water abruptly cut off some few minutes later.

He sighed. He would have barely enough time to escape unnoticed.

Quickly he opened a linen pouch that had been hooked to his belt, and pulled out a light gray coffee mug. It had two penguins on it joined by a seal pup, still white in its immaturity.

They looked so innocent, so naïve, not knowing they would most likely never make it to their first year. They would be brutally murdered by a hunter or a predator.

By someone like him. Someone who wasn't worthy of being called anything but a monster.

His eyes softened a bit. She had called him something other than a monster. She had called him her friend.

Not what he wanted, no, but maybe in time she'd see what he couldn't say. Wouldn't. Didn't know how to. He'd never known how to say it in truth, not as a child, and not even now as a man.

He set the new mug down by the coffeepot, the coffee being nearly finished, and then reached into the bag again. From it he pulled a gun. Not overlarge, but not small. It was his gift to her, a Browning Hi-Power Mark III. It would suit her, her favorite brand, and her favorite color—black. For after dark of course.

He lay this down on the table, in plain view of the first person to step foot into the kitchen. This was followed by a holster that had been custom made for the gun and her narrow shoulders. The rig was light for being leather, and compact. Easily rolled into a small ball—it had no belt hook. It would slide on her shoulders and stay where it was put, what it was designed for.

He glanced around making sure he had forgotten nothing and then took a step back.

Almost as an afterthought he regained his step and slipped his hand into the pouch and withdrew a white box. He lay this next to the gun and rig, knowing this would full well tell her it had been he who left her the gifts. If she hadn't figured it out before. As far as he knew he was the only man in her life, or person for that matter, who broke into her house and drank her coffee and left her weapons. 

Though he hadn't drunk her coffee tonight.

He glanced up as he heard movement from above. He would have to hurry to avoid her, to keep up his mysterious ways. His Batman habits, as she had called them once. He turned and left quickly and silently, locking the door behind him and stalking back to his car inside the shadows.

He left then, going to his hotel, to his bed, and to his dreams of her.

And in the morning he checked his answering service more out of habit rather than expecting a message.

Because he was alone he could allow his surprise to take him over, to show on his face and in his eyes.

There was a message. From her.

"Thank you… And thank you for not forgetting."

He smiled as he deleted the message and hung the phone back up.

Of course he wouldn't forget. It was her birthday.


End file.
